


Dionysian Mystery

by proskynesis



Category: Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18463909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proskynesis/pseuds/proskynesis
Summary: Alexander and Hephaestion are both very drunk. Total PWP. This has no redeeming historical commentary or concrete setting (though it's, uh, early and set in Macedon).





	Dionysian Mystery

When Alexander signalled across the room to leave the drinking party and follow him, Hephaestion was more than willing. It was far too hot in the hall and his head was beginning to throb from the music and the shouting. All night long he had been trying to get close enough to Alexander to have a private conversation, with no success. He had seen Alexander flash him pointed looks every now and then, as if he sympathised, but Alexander was host and must play the part. 

He ignored the voices calling out his name and somehow made his way through the couches without falling headlong. The party was a steady swirl of noise and colours. He hadn’t realised until he had stood quite how much wine he had drunk. He tried to remember beyond the third cup, and found that he couldn’t.

When Hephaestion finally reached him, Alexander slung an arm around him in greeting. He was flushed with drink and exhilaration, the celebratory ivy wreath coming loose from his hair. He smelled of sweat and wine. His breath was hot against Hephaestion’s cheek. Hephaestion felt a prickle of arousal, but Alexander mysteriously signed to him to follow and set off in the direction of the royal rooms. Hephaestion noted with a smirk that Alexander was just as unsteady on his feet. 

As soon as they had rounded the last corner on the long corridor that lead to the royal bedchamber, Alexander turned abruptly and slammed Hephaestion backwards against the wall. Hephaestion was so shocked that he forgot to breathe, and then Alexander’s hand was under his chiton and on his thigh, and Alexander’s mouth was on his, and Alexander had him pinned against the wall and was kissing him fiercely. 

Hephaestion pushed back, amazed. Alexander was rarely this sudden or violent with him – often Hephaestion had to goad him to it, but not tonight. They fumbled awkwardly against the wall, gasping into each other’s mouths.

Alexander tore away for a moment. He looked up, his eyes immense and dark, his mouth bruised, and hissed, “I was watching you, all night— I _want_ —”

Hephaestion groaned in agreement and fisted his hands tighter into Alexander’s hair. Alexander’s mouth tasted of honey and spices from the wine. He could feel Alexander’s fingers digging hard in his back as they began to thrust together in a slow faltering rhythm. Hephaestion thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. He thought, _Some god must have inspired this._

Suddenly there was a slight noise, the thud of a spear butt on the marble floor, and Hephaestion jerked his head away. One of the royal pages was standing a little way down the corridor, staring at them with round eyes and his mouth half open. Hephaestion coloured and pushed himself away from Alexander. To have been caught like this, rutting against a wall like the meanest soldier and his two-obol whore...

Alexander did not even look at the page; he simply pushed past into the room. Hephaestion made to follow, but decided that he might at least try to retain some dignity. He cleared his throat and looked down his nose at the page.

“The king doesn’t want to be disturbed tonight.” He paused, then added as an after-thought, “By anyone.” 

The page nodded smartly. Turning to go, Hephaestion was sure that he was being smirked at. He spun round, but when he looked again the page’s face was suspiciously straight. Hephaestion glared anyway. After all that he had seen, as Philip’s page... this was _nothing_. At least nothing worth _smirking_ about.

In the bed-chamber Alexander had somehow got hold of more wine. He drank down a whole cup in one then stared intently across the room at Hephaestion, as if he was trying to remember something. He put the cup down carefully, deliberately, on the table, then said, 

"You were watching that boy all night."

Hephaestion blinked. He had not been expecting that. "What boy?"

“That pretty wine-boy, with the eyes." Alexander had begun to pace closer. “I can have him brought in here, if you want it. You could have him. I could watch—”

Hephaestion felt a sharp stab of desire, but thought better of it when he realised that Alexander was scowling, angry. In fact he was glaring so hard that he had that deep furrow between his brows. Hephaestion had always found this faintly ridiculous. He laughed. 

“You think it’s funny?” Alexander asked, with a slow dangerous smile.

“Do I think it’s funny that the king of Macedon is blind jealous over some boy with a nice pair of thighs?” 

Alexander smiled wider and said sweetly, “Well, do you?”

Hephaestion laughed again. He was really quite too drunk for this game. Alexander was right in front of him now, close, his fists clenched tight in the rough wool of Hephaestion’s chiton.

“Of course I do. You’re a fool. I could have had him any number of times tonight, if I’d wanted to. And I don’t need your permission.”

Alexander’s eyes flashed then narrowed. For a long moment they stared at each other; then Alexander grinned – and backhanded Hephaestion across the face so hard that he heard his own jaw click as his head snapped back. Hephaestion grabbed at him, and they went down in a tangle of fabric and curses, knocking the heavy table and causing the wine mixer to unbalance and drip its sticky remnants over the side. 

It was hardly the most sophisticated wrestling match Hephaestion had ever taken part in. They rolled about on the floor, laughing, knees and elbows everywhere, heavy with drink and lust. Of course, as soon as Hephaestion had this thought then Alexander surprised him by lashing out quickly and managing to wind him; in revenge Hephaestion seized handfuls of Alexander’s hair and pulled until he yelled.

They both became hopelessly wound up in Alexander’s ceremonial purple cloak and spent a frantic minute smirking stupidly at each other and panting and swearing as they struggled together with the heavy pin clasp. Eventually it came loose with a ripping noise; Alexander was immediately up on his feet, and just as immediately he slipped sideways on the spilt wine, grabbing at the table to steady himself. He missed, and collapsed backwards onto the floor with a look of purest shock on his face. Hephaestion thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever seen and laughed until it hurt, or at least until Alexander flung himself forward at him with a roar of injured pride. 

Hephaestion rolled them over and pinned Alexander beneath him. He licked at Alexander’s neck and shoulder, where there was – somehow – a streak of wine. It was the dregs from the mixer. They tasted sharp and bitter, but he sucked harder until it was gone and there was only the tang of Alexander left. He bit down. Alexander growled and shifted against him restlessly. They began to exchange long sloppy kisses, moving lazily against each other. 

As soon as Hephaestion felt Alexander relax into his embrace, he brought his knee up and flipped him over onto his stomach. Alexander was taken by complete surprise. He squirmed and bucked and gasped curses and threats, but Hephaestion just gave a feral smirk and leaned forward with all his weight. He knew perfectly well that if Alexander needed to break free then he would be capable of doing so.

He also knew that if he relaxed his guard for even a moment, if he _let Alexander win_ , then drunk or not Alexander would never forgive him.

If there was one thing that Alexander hated, hated like the gates of Hades itself, it was that. Hephaestion had never made that mistake, and he knew that Alexander loved him for it above all else. 

When they had visited Athens some city dignitary had heard that the young prince enjoyed running. So he’d got one of the best athletes in the city out to run a length or two, if it would please the prince – an Olympic victor, no less! They were all like that, after the battle; terrified and grateful both at once, prepared to do anything to save their precious walls. Hephaestion had found it satisfying but rather pathetic, like watching a beaten dog cringe and whine and roll to show its stomach. Anyway, Alexander had run some lengths with this famous athlete, when suddenly he came storming back in a fury, face like thunder, refusing to run another foot. The city dignitary had turned ash-white, implored over and over what the matter was, what possibly could have happened to so offend the prince. Alexander had spun on his heel, snarled “He was _letting_ me win”, and stalked off in the opposite direction. The poor man had gasped like a landed fish, confusedly stuttering “but... but...”, looking to Hephaestion for explanation. Hephaestion had had to turn around and quickly follow Alexander, so that the man could not see him laughing. 

Alexander eventually gave a small defeated huff of breath and stopped thrashing. He lay passively under Hephaestion’s hands, breathing heavily. Hephaestion allowed himself a moment of silent triumph; he knew that Alexander would let few others indeed see him like this, quieted and submissive. He ran a hand down Alexander’s side, down his thigh. Alexander shuddered, and was still. 

There was an oil-lamp on a side-table, not yet lit. An ornate, silly thing, no doubt an old friendship-gift from one of the southern cities. Hephaestion reared up and grasped at it, eager and clumsy; it fell sideways, the oil spilling out in a wide glistening pool. He trailed his hand through it, trying to cup as much as he could. When he withdrew his hand the oil dripped a trail of dark spots over the purple cloak. 

He thrust Alexander’s legs apart roughly, still keeping his upper body pinned down, and smiled when he felt Alexander twitch them wider still. So he had not misread the signs. When Hephaestion pushed two fingers inside then Alexander’s entire body jolted up from the floor with a gasped " _oh_ ". He wanted to do this slowly but everything was becoming rushed, his pulse thudding, the slow heave of Alexander’s body, Alexander’s hands curling into the fabric of the cloak, the flickering lamplight, the sticky heat, the heavy smells of wine and oil and sex. 

He slicked his fingers up and pushed in again. Alexander twisted around them, trying to lever himself onto his knees so that he could push back. Hephaestion could see the sweat beading on his back, could see his thighs trembling with the effort, his whole body tense. When he found a sort of rhythm then Alexander cried out and began moaning, babbling encouragement.

Hephaestion shook his hair out of his eyes. That was Alexander, making those ridiculous noises. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, though all the same the sounds made heat pool low and thick in his groin. 

They did not do this often. When Hephaestion finally took him it was almost unbearably tight, Alexander arching and hissing as he pushed his way in. Hephaestion paused for a moment, his fingers slipping over Alexander’s sticky skin as he sought purchase to thrust fully. He was suddenly very conscious of himself inside Alexander, the heat of it. Why would he want the wine-boy when he had _this_?

Alexander had raised himself up on his elbows, his head hanging down between them. He spoke in a low voice, through gritted teeth.

“Hephaestion. I swear, by all the gods above and below, I will have you flogged before the whole army if you do not _move_ , _now_.” 

Hephaestion gave a shout of laughter and drove forward. 

It was not perfect, but then they were always rough with each other; the rhythm faltered and stuttered as they heaved and panted, both shaking with the exertion. Alexander ended up on his hands and knees with Hephaestion’s hand, still slippery from the oil, bringing him off. Hephaestion finished inside Alexander with a choked off curse. They lay curled close together, listening to each other’s shallow breathing and smiling lazily. 

Hephaestion coiled a strand of Alexander’s hair around his finger. He had just noticed that Alexander was still – _somehow_ , after all that – wearing the ivy wreath. As if waking from a dream, Hephaestion remembered the drinking party. If he listened carefully he could hear, far off, the subdued noise of it. 

“It doesn’t sound like they’re missing us.”

As if on cue there was the sound of a crash, followed by loud shouting and cheering. The cheering became louder, as the pipes swayed and trilled the high notes.

“It sounds like they’re getting up a komos,” he observed. He considered whether they should join, as would be proper, but then looked sideways to where Alexander was lying beside him on the cloak, splendidly nude, one arm thrown over his face to cover his eyes, snoring gently but insistently. He looked like a particularly debauched young god. Hephaestion let his eye wander over the smashed pottery, upturned furniture, spilled wine and oil. The ceremonial cloak was ruined beyond repair. He had no idea where his own chiton had gone. Alexander’s was ripped up the back, half the decorative gold pendants from the hem and sleeves come loose and scattered over the floor. The room stank of oil and sex. No, it was probably best to forget about the ‘proper’ things for tonight. 

He stretched, languidly, and sighed, wondering how Alexander would explain all this to the pages in the morning. Maybe by the end of the night they would have drunk enough wine not to care either. One thing was certain: tomorrow, he must be sure to give a thank-offering to Dionysus the Liberator.


End file.
